


(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

by MeanderingMotivation



Series: The Witcher A/B/O [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega Jaskier, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeanderingMotivation/pseuds/MeanderingMotivation
Summary: Geralt doesn’t do omegas. He really doesn’t.But that doesn’t stop him from feeling a connection with Jaskier.ORGeralt and Jaskier argue about scenting.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher A/B/O [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597840
Comments: 85
Kudos: 2291
Collections: Fan Fiction Addiction, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

**Author's Note:**

> Every pairing in every fandom deserves a sub-par A/B/O fic! Not sure if there is already one for this pairing (there's probably one better tbh) but don't ask and you shall still receive! 
> 
> In all honestly, I'm still not a huge expert on A/B/O and I'm just winging it. Also, I've only seen the Netflix series, so if the characters are missing something it's probably what is in the books and video games :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!

* * *

Geralt tried his best to avoid omegas.

It wasn’t like he hated them or anything so drastic, it was just that they were delicate, and although people may have scorned him as a ‘butcher’ he wasn’t fond of destroying delicate things.

Omegas weren’t for casual fucks, or tavern fights. They were soft and sweet-smelling, coveted and coddled, they were an emotional breed, prone to attachment and easily influenced by strong pheromones.

At least, that was what he thought. To be honest, he had little experience with omegas. He had little experience with _people,_ outside of taking their coin and beating them in fights. What limited experience he did have wasn’t considerable, but there was a reason omegas were never soldiers, or rulers. They may have been the sons or daughters of both, but they never stepped into the roles themselves. Geralt had been around a long time, and although women had overcome their oppressors to prove themselves just as formidable as the so-called ‘superior’ gender, secondary sexes had always muddied the waters.

Man or woman, if you presented as an omega, your prospects were limited. Husband, wife, untouched virgin. Occupations were sparse and mostly centred around child-rearing or domestic servitude, although omegas were so rare and prized nowadays that it was uncommon to see them working at all. Geralt could remember a time where the population had been higher, but it had started to decline in the last couple of decades or so. He didn’t know why.

Popular speculation was that it had to do with mixed-blood. Omegas were primarily mated by alphas, but more progressive opinion had led to an acceptance of omega-beta pairs, and, much to a degree of scandal, omega-omega relationships…

When the omega percentage of their population dipped below 15 percent, hasty action had been taken to preserve their ‘rareness’, and nowadays, a beta or other omega would be too frightened of a mob stoning to try courting an omega. It was a new unwritten law most of the kingdoms encouraged, and Geralt avoided having an opinion on the matter.

After all, he’d been spat on by omegas as well before. They saw him as a monster as well, and would be just as quick to see his decapitated corpse laying on the streets as anyone else. Their sweet scents, so tempting to any alpha, usually soured with fear whenever they saw Geralt. They were a slave to it, like any other regular human.

And yet they were truly enchanting creatures. Geralt couldn’t deny that. One whiff of an omega was usually enough to have his cock softening in a beta woman’s mouth. So tempting, especially to his strong sense of smell…

Biology. It all came down to biology. And as a half-mutant himself, Geralt knew a thing or two about the human composition. As much as he wished his alpha-presentation could have been nullified, just as he’d been made sterile, it had been left intact, and his mutated state only made it stronger. More potent. He was stronger than any other alpha, more instinct-driven, and if he got too close to a beautiful omega…

He wouldn’t be able to resist. He had to be careful. He didn’t want to _feel._ Nor did he want to hurt an omega, and since he was a witcher, a sub-human who spent all of his time travelling and slaying monsters…it was inevitable that he would. Not to mention, omegas _loved_ children, and he could never provide that. Nor could he offer a cosy home for nests, or true safety.

He lived a restless life, and omegas didn’t have the right disposition for travelling. They preferred home-making.

So he avoided them like they were the plague, determined to keep his distance from temptation.

And then…

* * *

“Do you think this tune is too melancholy?” Jaskier plucked a few strings of his lute, peering at Geralt expectantly. His blue eyes were wide, bright, and Geralt grunted. “Ah, you’re right,” Jaskier went on, as if Geralt had verbalised instead of just giving one of his signature grumbles. “Much too sad for this particular ballad…”

Geralt watched as his travelling companion scribbled in his little book contently, the bright feather of the quill matching his crimson attire. He didn’t like Jaskier in red, he looked too…inviting. Red was a colour for whores, and Jaskier wasn’t…

Blue. White. Maybe even a soft sort of pink. That’s what Geralt would pick for him, if he had the chance. Red was a colour for private affairs, worn as a seductive flag for his alpha-

_Fuck._

Unfortunately, these kind of thoughts had become more frequent lately, and Geralt was having a problem blocking them out. It was only natural, he knew. He’d been travelling in close quarters with an omega on-and-off for months now, and his instincts had been drawn out. It wasn’t normal for an omega to spend so much time with an unmated alpha like this, and-

“So, will you be accompanying me tonight?” Jaskier’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Geralt looks at him with a scowl. “To the party at the inn?” He added, when Geralt merely glowered at him. “The same inn we’ve been patronising whenever we’re in this stretch of the woods? The one with the good ale? The delicious stew? The one where that bloody swindler robbed me blind-“

“You aren’t a good gambler.” Geralt finally spoke up, shaking his head in remembrance. “Too honest a face. Too obvious a tell.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d be _great_ at it, what with your stony countenance and general emotional constipation. Perhaps you can win some coin for us tonight? Enough for a room in the inn…”

_I’d only be accused of cheating if I won. More dead bodies. I don’t want to subject him to that._

And yet, Geralt knew he couldn’t leave ~~his~~ the omega to his own devices. He was always getting up to mischief, and since he couldn’t fight himself out of a paper bag, it wasn’t safe to leave him alone. Besides, who knew what bastard would try and take advantage of him. Jaskier may have been spirited, but he was a little naïve. The sort of fool to approach a witcher, and hassle him into friendship.

That sort of person couldn’t be trusted alone. Not without ~~his alpha~~ some unfortunate person to watch out for him. Geralt had performed this role countless times in the past, and this would be no different. He’d go to that wretched inn, with those noisy humans (although admittedly nice food), and sit in a corner until Jaskier had had his fill clowning around, singing and strumming his instrument, flirting with any man or woman who glanced at him edgewise…

_Stupid bard. He needs to be more careful. One day an alpha is going to get the wrong idea._

Fortunately, most of the population consisted of betas, and alphas were hardly the sort to frequent such backwater inns in search of entertainment. No true threats, not that it mattered to Geralt’s protective alpha instincts. Without a true mark, Jaskier was as vulnerable as a lamb, even though his attitude and wit was far more reminiscent of a fox, or a stroppy young foal...

So he had to settle for other things. Appeasing his instincts had become a habit the longer they had known one another, and Geralt justified it by telling himself that it was _easier_ this way. Less hassle for him in the long-term. And Jaskier had never gotten any ideas into his head about it…

“Here.” He growled, standing up and putting aside his sword. He’d been sharpening it with a whetstone, a quiet sort of afternoon between the three of them. Three of them, because of Roach, who stood nearby, happily grazing on a patch of grass. She looked up as he moved, snorting as if in amusement. “Shut up.” He snapped at her, and Jaskier took it in stride, knowing by now the witcher’s tendency to speak to his horse.

“So you’re coming then.” Jaskier seemed immeasurably pleased as he obeyed, _skipping_ over to the stoic man, who grasped his collar the moment he got close, bringing his face close, so he could rub their scent glands together. Jaskier’s smooth skin smells as inviting as ever, fresh, like a bubbling brook. His cheeks are devoid of any scruff, as always, and his neck is warm, as Geralt moves lower. He reaches out his other hand to rub at Jaskier’s wrists, thoroughly scenting all of his glands.

It’ll be a glaring warning to any predators: STAY AWAY. Geralt’s strong alpha scent is made even punchier by his half-mutant genes, it’ll be enough to keep even the gutsiest alpha or most laidback beta away. The downside for Jaskier, being…

Jaskier whines when Geralt does another once-over, determined to leave no trace of Jaskier un-scented. It’s a little excessive, but the witcher can’t help it. He also can’t deny that…he enjoys it. It’s an excuse to touch Jaskier outside of his usual shoves and hauling. “Geralt, if you keep up with that, you’ll scare everyone away. They won’t step a single foot near me all night…”

_Good,_ he almost says, but instead he grunts.

Jaskier sighs, but doesn’t complain further. He stands pliant, if a little flushed, until Geralt is finished. Usually he strides away after this, resuming conversation as if the exchange never happened, but today-

Geralt recoils as Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck, stepping into his space to-

_He’s embracing me. **He’s embracing me.** _

It isn’t the first time Jaskier has tried. He’s an affectionate drunk, and on the rare occasions they need to huddle for warmth on cold nights in the wilderness, he sometimes tries to…cuddle.

Cuddle. What a ridiculous word.

There’s no real seductive intent behind it, ~~not this time~~ but it’s so _sweet_ and _unmistakably **omegan**_ that Geralt pushes him away as if he’s been accosted, a strangled sort of growl escaping his throat.

Jaskier flies backwards, falling onto his ass unceremoniously. Usually such a spectacle would incite amusement in him, but Geralt can only watch, distancing himself further, stepping closer to Roach, who is peering at the scene in bemusement.

_He’s of a good-humour. Perhaps he won’t be-_

“You complete arse!” Jaskier huffs, pushing himself to his knees. He pushes hair out of his red face, blue eyes spitting fire. There’s a little hurt there as well, which Geralt tries to ignore. “What the bloody hell was that for!?”

“You know I don’t like the touchiness.” Geralt’s excuse is weak, even to his own ears.

Jaskier scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, I see. So you can just do as you please, scenting me like a territorial mongrel, but the moment I try to do the same, I get shoved over! Well, let me tell you something-“

“Don’t. I’m not interested.” Not that it’s ever stopped Jaskier before-

“I don’t give a toss if you aren’t interested! I don’t know what sort of etiquette you learned, out here brooding in the woods, _killing does and feeling sorry for yourself-“_

_Uncalled for._

“But you can’t just stake a claim on me like I’m pack, and then revoke the same privilege for me-“

“Jaskier, our scent glands were touching. Your scent is on me-“

“Barely! You smell so strongly-“

“Listen, Jaskier, I know you omegas can get… _like this,_ but-“

“Don’t you dare! You entitled, uninformed-“

“I’ve lived far longer than you, Jaskier. I think I know more about these sorts of things than you.”

“You presume to know more about omegas, even though you aren’t one!? Well, I guess I can be an expert on witchers, since I’ve been around your foul moods long enough-“

“I never asked you to follow me around like a fucking dog-“

_“A dog!?”_ The pure affront on Jaskier’s face might have been humorous, at another time. “Oh, because omegas are like _dogs in heat?_ Because you’re so _bloody irresistible_ and my little omega hindbrain couldn’t _stand_ it-“

Geralt growls, utterly frustrated. That wasn’t what he’d meant _at all._ He never would have opened his mouth, if he’d known how sensitive the omega issue actually made the bard. He’d always thought it flowed right off him, like water from a ducks back, but underneath the confidence there must have been a little insecurity…or was it resentment? “Stop putting words in my mouth-“

“You know, this is the most I’ve heard you speak _in weeks._ So the next time I want to hear you communicate outside of grunts, all I have to do is mention omegas, since you’re so educated on the topic that you feel the need to speak over _me_ , an actual flesh and blood omega, who’s actually had the _splendorous_ experience of having slick coming out of his arse-“

Jaskier is often crude, but for some reason Geralt finds what he’s just said distasteful. The bard’s heats had always been a taboo subject for Geralt, and he’d never wanted to test whether Jaskier would be forthcoming about the matter. He assumed Jaskier always had them when they parted ways…

“Or perhaps you’d like to study _me_ in heat, like I’m some kind of animal? Oh, what a song _that_ would make-“

“Jaskier-“

“But perhaps not. After all, I’m such a weak, pitiable creature, I might _beg_ you to-“

“Jaskier!” Geralt’s eyes flash gold, warningly, and although Jaskier rarely shuts his mouth, something about Geralt’s expression silences him, although it’s a petulant, huffy silence. Also very omegan. “I won’t speak on this anymore-“

“Or maybe you’re disgusted.” Jaskier’s voice is, uncommonly, soft. His eyes are trained on the ground, which he scuffs with his shoe. “And that’s why you have no problem scenting me all of the time, because I’m not worthy of your companionship-“

“When has such notions as _worthiness_ ever bothered you before?” Geralt snapped. “I have tried to deter you from my company time and time again, yet you always come back, no matter how much I insult you, no matter how much danger we find ourselves in, like a fucking boomerang-“

“I’m supposed to play at this celebration,” Jaskier cuts in, suddenly. He’s eyeing the position of the sun, how its begun to sink. “If I want to be paid what I’m due, I should get going. I’d prefer solitude tonight, if you don’t mind.” His tone isn’t rude, but Geralt can tell when he’s not wanted.

And he’s too prideful of a man to insist, even when the thought of Jaskier going anywhere at night _alone_ makes his chest feel a little tight. “Hm.”

“I’m glad you understand,” sarcasm, that’s more like the usual Jaskier. He dusts off his clothes, the seat of his pants ~~Geralt deliberately _does not_ stare ~~and picks up his lute, tucking it into its carrying case. “Well, have a _delightful_ evening sitting alone in the dark, and, erm, don’t wait up.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, determined to wait until Jaskier is out of sight to punch something, and blinks in surprise when the bard pulls something out of his pocket. A small bottle filled with a clear substance, _clearly_ not for medicinal purposes.

Jaskier uncorks the lid, and Geralt inhales deeply, _outright growling_ when he realises what it is, and that Jaskier is already dabbing it at his scent glands.

Scent-suppressant isn’t exactly outlawed, but its hard to find. Its composition isn’t solely herbal, and a mage is usually required to brew a proper batch. It usually needs to be tailored for a specific individual as well, depending on their secondary sex. It doesn’t really surprise Geralt that Jaskier has some (after all, he travels alone fairly often, it must be a protective measure), but it bothers him-

_How **dare** he erase my scent!? How can I protect him? How can others know he’s mine!? _His thoughts are all very _alpha,_ territorial, entitled, but Geralt is also _worried_ , and he doesn’t deal with worried well. He’s also a little insulted by what Jaskier has done-

_That little shit looks **smug.** He’s done this to **spite me-**_

The cork goes back in the bottle, the bottle is tucked away again, and the magical concoction is masking Geralt’s scent, as well as Jaskier’s own natural one. He’s a clean slate, unremarkable. Perhaps it’s even better this way…

Then why does Geralt feel so insulted? He should be glad that Jaskier has his own way of being safe, and be asking the bard why he hadn’t been using it the whole time, instead of forcing Geralt to-

“Well, I’ll be popping off now! If I’m not back by daybreak, it’s because I can’t tear myself away from a beautiful man or woman-“

**_Man_** _or woman?_ Geralt isn’t stupid, he knows Jaskier isn’t that discerning when it comes to gender, but the bard had never outright mentioned pursuing another man before. Hearing him do so now, is almost enough to make him growl again, but he holds off, not wanting to lose his composure any further.

“Fare thee well, Witcher!” Jaskier turns his back, starts to head towards the path they had deviated from earlier, and Geralt calls, gruffly-

“Be back by daybreak, or I leave without you.”

Jaskier pauses, briefly, before resuming his walk, calling back, a little acidic, “I wouldn’t expect you to wait for my benefit.”

It’s not his usual dismissive laugh, or cheeky remark, and Geralt misses it.

He watches as Jaskier disappears through the trees, listens as his footfalls fade, and sighs when Roach whinnies, as if in reproach. “I know,” he says to her, exasperatedly. “I know.”

**Fuck.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I know that was an abrupt ending, but I think I'm going to write this as a series, instead of multi-chapter. Kind of like how everything is out out of order in the show, but still makes sense once you look it up on Google?
> 
> Also, I know Geralt seemed like a bit of an asshole in this, but he's just inexperienced with omegas and reluctant to bond with Jaskier even though he wants that booty ;)
> 
> Please leave a comment to let me know what you think, if you would like, and if I should continue. No pressure though. 
> 
> And now I'm off to thirst over Yennefer! This show was literally a bi dream ;) Thanks for reading!
> 
> (Chapter title borrowed from Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys)


End file.
